Knights of the Phantasm
by extendedcanon2000
Summary: Strange things are happening at Hogwarts. Anonymous warnings. Vanishing students. Secret plots. An uncanny professor. Embarking on a quest to uncover the truth, Albus Potter and his friends are drawn even deeper into the mysteries that haunt the castle. Only with courage and cunning, commitment and cleverness, can they hope to save the legendary school and all who call it home.
1. Prologue: The Boy and the Trolley

Prologue

The Boy and the Trolley

Autumn seemed to arrive early that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, and the elderly woman sitting on the bench by platform nine pulled her shawl snugger around her shoulders as she gazed morosely at the morning commuters hurrying about the great sooty station. She had been meant to meet her son at half past ten, but now it was nearly eleven o'clock and she was beginning to worry they wouldn't make their train. She thought with a sigh of what her son would say when he finally arrived. No doubt that he had been waylaid by traffic and _would_ have called to tell her he'd be late, but she still stubbornly refused to carry a cell phone and perhaps _now_ she'd let him buy one for her.

The woman checked the watch on her wrist and scanned the platform again. Thick white steam from the trains roiled across the platform, making the figures swarming about the station indistinct. She watched them for a second and then something moving in the mist caught her attention. She couldn't make out what it was at first. It clattered and squawked as it moved down the platform toward her, its bulky and oddly-shaped body propelled by an unknown force, but as it came closer, the woman saw it was two trolleys, piled high with trunks and, unbelievably, cages of birds. Owls, it looked like.

The trolleys were being pushed by two adults: a man in glasses and a woman with shockingly red hair. They were trailed by three children, the youngest clinging tearfully to her father's arm as the elder two boys walked together, apparently arguing. Suddenly the tallest boy rushed forward, easily outpacing his parents, his younger brother (for that's what they were, the woman realized; the resemblance was unmistakable) following in his wake.

On her bench, the elderly woman watched the family weave through the commuters, oblivious to the stares they were receiving. As they passed her, she caught a snatch of the two boys' argument above the clamor of the station.

"I _won't_! I _won't_ be in Slytherin!" the younger boy said heatedly.

"You might, though," said the elder, teasingly.

"James, give it a rest!" said the mother.

"I only said he _might_ be," said James, grinning over his shoulder at his brother. "There's nothing wrong with that. He _might_ be in Slyth—"

But he caught his mother's eye and fell silent.

The family approached the barrier beside the woman's bench. She studied them covertly from the corner of her eye, not wanting to be rude, but extremely curious (what was this slither-whatsit the boy had mentioned?). The owls on the trolleys glowered back at her, hooting dolefully.

Suddenly, the elder boy—James—had grabbed hold of the trolley his mother had been pushing and broke into a run. The woman watched horrorstruck as he hurtled at the concrete barrier, certain he was going to crash…

But then—the woman didn't see how, because her view was abruptly obscured by steam and commuters—both boy and trolley were gone. Craning her neck left and right, the woman tried to spot where he went, thinking he had veered around the barrier at the last moment, but he was no where to be seen.

The parents seemed wholly unconcerned at their son's disappearance.

"We wrote to James three times a week last year," the mother was telling the younger boy.

"And you don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts," the father put in. "He likes a laugh, your brother."

Together, the family pushed the remaining trolley toward the barrier. Again, the woman watched fearfully as they picked up speed, but like the boy, no crash came. The family simply vanished within a jumble of billowing steam and people.

The woman leaned back against the bench, only then realizing she had scooted to the edge of her seat in anxiety. Who had those people been? she wondered. They had looked ordinary enough, but there had been something decidedly odd about the entire family. Maybe it was the way they had shut owls up in metal cages, like one would pack up a pet cat or dog, but she didn't think so, somehow. If she hadn't heard their accent, she might have guessed they were foreigners. Americans, speaking in slang about a slither-thing and some disease called "hogwarts."

Trying to put the encounter out of her head, the woman checked her watch again. It was now six minutes to eleven. The train at platform nine whistled a warning blow and the last of the travelers hurried to the doors, ushered through by blue uniformed conductors. The train would be leaving in another minute.

The woman got to her feet with a groan. Seems she was going to miss the train after all. She was reaching down to retrieve her luggage from its place beside the bench when she saw it: a pair of yellow-green eyes staring fixedly out from the darkness underneath a bench directly across from her on platform ten. She froze, half bent over. The eyes, narrowed in acute dislike, glowered menacingly at the barrier separating the two platforms. If she had been closer, the woman was certain she would have heard growling.

"Mum! Hey, mum!"

The woman looked up and saw a young man in a gray suit racing toward her, a traveling case swinging from one hand.

"Mum, what are you doing?" he asked as he reached her. "The train's about to leave. We gotta get going."

"Did you see that?" the woman said, pointing to the bench opposite her. The eyes had vanished.

"See what?" he demanded impatiently. "Look, we gotta go. They're shutting the doors."

He scooped up the woman's luggage in his free hand and rushed away toward the whistling train. After a second's wondering pause, the woman hurried after him.


	2. Chapter One: The Birthday Letters, pt1

Chapter One

The Birthday Letters, Part 1

Seven months earlier, a ten-year-old boy stood beside a bare vegetable garden, staring intently up at the sky. He was small for his age, with untidy black hair mostly hidden underneath a woolen hat and eyes an uncommonly bright green, at odds with his nose and cheeks, which the chilly air had turned a nice shade of red. The weather had been surprisingly warm for the beginning of March, so when the boy had raced outside from his grandfather's house that afternoon he had worn only jeans and a burgundy sweater lovingly embroidered with a large, silver letter A on the front. Now it was evening, however, and the blustery wind had picked up again, blowing in darker clouds that threatened snow. Rubbing his hands together to keep warm, the boy peered at the clouds, trying to make out the black shape silhouetted against them. As he watched, the shape drew closer and closer until it resolved into something that, had the boy not been expecting it, would have been quite astonishing. It was a girl, nearly as young as the boy, with long, ruddy brown hair and riding what appeared to be a broomstick that was at least twice as long as she was tall.

The boy waved and whooped as the girl went sailing over him and landed with a thud on the frozen ground a little way away. The boy ran over to where she stood, a large grin plastering her face.

"Did you see how high I went, Al?" she asked excitedly, dismounting the broomstick. "I was almost in the clouds! Did you see?"

"Yeah, I saw," Albus replied, eyeing the broomstick with envy. "Could I have another go now? Please, Rosie?"

Rosie was Albus's cousin, her father being his mother's brother. She was exactly three weeks and one day older than Albus and today was her birthday.

Rosie was in many ways very unusual for a girl who had just turned eleven. Not only did she know how to fly a broomstick, but she also knew how to brew potions, talk to ghouls, and chase pesky pixies from dusty cupboards. She could even, although she wasn't strictly allowed, cast spells to light wood on fire and make water boil.

The unusual nature of his cousin was lost on Albus, however. He thought it was perfectly ordinary for an eleven year old girl to come swooping out of the sky or for her to tell him about the conversation she'd had with the ghoul in their grandfather's attic. But then, there were many more unusual things about Albus than just his name.

He just happened to be, as you may well have guessed, a wizard.

"You've already ridden it twice," Rosie said, hefting the broomstick and balancing it awkwardly on her shoulder. The perfectly smooth golden wood handle glinted in the fading sunlight. "It's too dark now anyway. You'll wreck my new broom if you run into something."

"I won't," Albus said immediately, but Rosie just clutched the handle tighter. "Fine. Could I just hold it then?"

"I guess. But be careful with it," Rosie said. She swung the broomstick from her shoulder and gently placed it in his outstretched hands.

"I hope I get a broomstick for my birthday," Albus said, lifting it to eye level so he could inspect the handle. "James got one for his eleventh birthday, but he never let me ride it. He just flew it all around the house until mum took it away."

"But he's at school now and first years aren't allowed broomsticks," Rosie said knowledgeably. "Mum told me I'd have to leave mine at home when I go to Hogwarts. I bet your mum wouldn't mind if you used James's broom while he's gone."

"No way. James would kill me if he thought I'd touched it," Albus said. He turned the handle in his hands and ran a finger over the single word carved in the wood. Nimbus. "He made dad lock it in the study closet and promise he wouldn't let anyone in there. Dad said okay because it's James's broom and 'he can do what he wants with it.'"

"Oh," said Rosie sympathetically. "Well, I'm sure you really will get a broomstick for your birthday. It's only a few weeks away and then we can play Quidditch together. Until we go to school, that is."

Albus nodded gloomily. A movement at the corner of the vegetable garden caught his eye. A minute, funny-looking creature had just emerged from a hole nearby and was beginning to dig earnestly in the hard earth. It had gray, leathery skin and a knobbly head, which was covered by a huge leaf obviously meant to be a hat. As he dug, more of the creatures emerged from the hole and stood watching their working companion from the growing shadows of the trees.

"Garden gnomes," supplied Rosie when she spotted what he was looking at.

"I know," said Albus, but Rosie hadn't heard him.

She had clapped her hands together and squealed. "We'll really be going to Hogwarts this year. I can't wait. I've been practicing all sorts of spells when mum isn't looking."

"But you haven't got a wand, yet," Albus said, looking a little awed. "You can't do spells without a wand."

"Dad lets me borrow his when mum's working late," Rosie replied, shrugging. "He says I have natural talent and ought to exercise it, never mind the rules. Still, I can't wait until I have my own wand." She sighed dreamily. "You know, it feels different being eleven."

"Oh yeah?" Albus said. "Different how?"

"I don't know. Just different. Like I'm older or something."

"Well, you are a year older," Albus said, grinning as she socked him in the arm.

"Don't be an idiot. You know what I mean." Rosie paused and gave him an appraising stare. "Or maybe you don't. You are still ten."

"Only for three more weeks!"

"But you _are_ still ten. And ten in boy years is like being six for a girl, so really you're a whole four years younger than me."

Albus snorted. "That doesn't make any sense."

Rosie socked him in the arm again. They watched the gnomes gamboling around the vegetable garden. The digging gnome had unearthed the remains of a shriveled carrot and was darting through the weeds, carrot clutched between his razor-sharp teeth, pursued by half a dozen gnomes carrying pointy sticks.

"Poor thing," Rosie said as the gnomes cornered the one with the carrot and began jabbing their sticks at him.

"He'll be all right," Albus said. "Gnomes have thick skin."

But all the same he reached down, grabbed a clump of dirt, and hurled it at the advancing gnomes. The clod shattered as it hit the ground, sending the gnomes running as they were pelted with flying bits of dirt.

"My broom!" Rosie said suddenly as Albus made to grip the handle with his dirty hand. She snatched it quickly from him.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." Rosie said, wiping the broomstick handle with her sweater sleeve. "Let's go inside, though. I can't see if I got all the dirt off."

Together they traipsed across the yard toward the crooked stone house at the top of the hill. Yellow light spilled from its windows, pushing back the growing dusk and illuminating the figures of Albus's and Rosie's parents and grandparents moving about the rooms. It looked as though they were still cleaning Granddad Weasley's house from the party they had thrown for Rosie earlier that day. He saw the plump form of his grandmother busy taking down the paper chains decorating the ceiling.

"So what House do you think you'll be in?" asked Rosie as they walked.

She had asked him this question many times before, but couldn't seem to talk about Hogwarts without asking again. Albus understood why, of course. A House was like a person's family at Hogwarts. Members of the same House lived together and had classes together. But even more importantly, a House defined what kind of witch or wizard someone was or was likely to become—whether he was courageous or smart or hardworking or ambitious.

"Gryffindor," Albus said immediately. "James is in it and both my mum and dad were, too, so that's what I'll be in."

"My mum says that it doesn't always go in families. That just because everyone else in your family is in one House doesn't mean you'll go there too."

"But it usually does go in families," Albus said. "That's what Grandad Weasley said. It _usually_ does."

Rosie nodded. "I know, but just say you don't go to Gryffindor, what other House would you want to be in?"

"Not Slytherin," Albus said at once. "No way I'll ever go there."

Rosie gave him an impatient look. "You always say that."

"Yeah, because it's true. There is absolutely no way I'll ever be in Slytherin!"

Rolling her eyes at the fierce look Albus gave her, Rosie changed tactic. "So what do you think about Ravenclaw? That House wouldn't be so bad."

Albus shrugged. "I guess so."

"It'd be better than Hufflepuff, don't you think?" she pressed. "We'd learn so much more and mum says the Head of House is really nice."

"I'd still rather be in Gryffindor," Albus said stubbornly.

"I _know_, but just say you can't go there, what do you think about Ravenclaw?"

They had reached the back door. Albus took hold of the door handle and opened his mouth to tell her the question was a stupid one because he was going to be in Gryffindor in the end, but hesitated at the eager smile on her face. "I…yeah, sure, Ravenclaw sounds…nice…I guess."

Rosie beamed. "I thought so too. Especially if we're together. That'd be perfect."

It was then, standing together on the stoop of Granddad Weasley's house, a triumphant gnome chewing greedily on a shriveled carrot behind them in the garden, that Rosie spoke the words that would haunt Albus for months to come: "I don't think you'll be in Gryffindor, anyway. I mean, you're not really the Gryffindor type."


	3. Chapter One: The Birthday Letters, pt2

Chapter One

The Birthday Letters, Part 2

Albus had laughed off Rosie's words at first. Of course he would be in Gryffindor. Everybody in his family, and Rosie's, too, for that matter, had been in Gryffindor. But as his eleventh birthday neared, he could not help wondering if Rosie was right. What exactly was a Gryffindor type? To be brave, he answered himself. To be courageous and bold and daring. And when had he been any of those things? What had been the last, truly brave thing he had done? He couldn't think of a single thing.

"You swatted that bee that was bothering Lily," Rosie said when he confided in her, the day before his birthday. Her parents had dropped her and Hugo, her younger brother, off at Albus's house that morning so they could help with the decorations for his birthday party the next day.

"She cried after I killed it," Albus said glumly, pinching the ends of the next loop in their paper chain together while Rosie attached Spellotape.

"That's just your sister, though. She cries at most everything. I thought it was really nice what you did." Rosie set down the tape and picked up two pieces of colored paper from the large pile covering the kitchen table. "Which do you think should be next, blue or green?"

"I dunno...green, I guess," said Albus.

Rosie pursed her lips for a second. "Really? I was thinking blue because it's the next color up the spectrum from red, if you don't count violet, of course, since we don't have any. And then we can do green next, since it's the next color up from blue. And then maybe a yellow. But, if you think green would be better…"

"Blue's fine too," said Albus. "Is that really the bravest thing I've done? Squashing a bug?"

"Of course not. You've, um…put up with James you're whole life. That takes a lot of bravery," said Rosie, taking up her scissors and cutting a strip from the blue piece of paper.

"I don't have a choice. He's my brother."

"He put frozen doxies in your bed, stuck all your Chocolate Frog cards to the ceiling, hid a Puking Pastel in your pudding, a Nosebleed Nugget in your cereal, and slimed up the toilet seat so you'd fall off when you sat on it," said Rosie matter-of-factly. "And that was just in the week before he left for school."

She handed him the strip of paper she'd cut and took up the Spellotape again. Albus threaded the paper through the previous chain link and held it for Rosie as she measured out a section of tape and neatly applied it to the paper's edge.

"So what? How's it brave to puke all over my supper?" Albus asked, pressing the two ends together.

Rosie set down her scissors and leaned in closer, a meaningful look on her face. "Well," she said, "you're still here, aren't you? Most people would've done themselves in by now just to get away from him."

They both laughed as Hugo and Lily rushed into the kitchen.

"Mum says," panted Lily even before she had come to a full stop beside Albus's chair, "that you have to let us help."

"Or else," added Hugo, who continued to run full speed around the table.

"No!" said Albus and Rosie together. Rosie pulled the loose end of the paper chain protectively closer.

"But you've got to! Mum says!" Lily whined, sticking out her bottom lip and letting it quiver threateningly.

"No, we don't," Albus said, eyeing Hugo distrustfully as he careened past his chair, just missing Lily. "You'll ruin everything we've done. And don't cry. It won't work."

Lily humphed loudly, but her lip resumed its normal position. She glared at Albus for moment, as though trying to change her brother's mind by shear force of will, then gave a sly smirk. "You better let us help or else I won't give you your letter."

"What letter?" asked Albus suspiciously. "Who's it from?"

Lily shrugged mysteriously, her smirk growing wider. "So can we help?"

"Tell me who it's from first!"

"No." Rosie planted her hands stubbornly on her hips. Hugo giggled as he went whizzing past.

"Well…" Albus said slowly, glancing at Rosie. She was shaking her head warningly, pulling the paper chain still closer. "I guess you could cut strips of paper."

Rosie groaned. "Not _scissors_."

"And Hugo can watch," Albus added hastily. Hugo, who was passing Albus's chair, started to protest, but before he could form the words his foot caught the chair leg and with a squawk he was sent sprawling into the kitchen sink piled high with dirty dishes. In a thunderous clap, the dishes cascaded down on him.

"Hugo!" Rosie gasped.

Hugo laid perfectly still, half buried beneath a heap of grimy pots and pans. Smashed plates, cups, and saucers were scattered all about him. Rosie leapt to her feet and rushed toward Hugo, quickly followed by Albus and frightened-looking Lily.

"Hugo," Rosie called again, bending over his prone body. "Are you ok?"

Hugo shook slightly and for a moment Albus thought he was crying. Then he lifted his head and Albus could see a large grin spread across his face.

"Did you see it?" Hugo asked, his voice squeaking in excitement. "Did you see it? Did you see me bounce?"

"Bounce?" asked Rosie, confused.

"I bounced off the counter! I thought I was going to hit it, but I just bounced! I did magic!" Hugo jumped up, sending the pots that were on him flying to the floor.

"That's so cool!" Lily said eagerly, no longer scared now that Hugo was smiling.

"What's so cool?" asked a new voice. The four of them whirled around and saw a woman in jeans and black robes, the sleeves pinned high above her elbows, standing in the doorway, her long red hair tied back from her face in a loose bun.

"Aunt Ginny," Rosie said at the same time Albus said, "Mum!"

"What's going on in here?" Albus's mother asked surveying the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she took in the mess on the floor.

"Hugo did magic!" Lily exclaimed before either Albus or Rosie could answer.

"Did he now?" her mother said dryly. "Don't tell me he's learned to explode or I'll never get the house clean."

Lily giggled and Hugo said sheepishly, "I bounced."

"Right into my dishes apparently. Oh well, I can put it right in two seconds. Stand back."

She drew out a wand from the pocket of her robe and waited until the four children had withdrawn to the other side of table before giving it a wave. Instantly, the broken dishes repaired themselves, the jagged edges snapping together neatly like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She gave another wave and the dishes, pots, and pans flew into the air and began stacking themselves tidily back into the sink.

"And since I'm at it," Albus's mother said giving a third wave of the wand after the dishes had settled, making a scrub brush spring from a cabinet and set about scrubbing the dishes.

"Ooh, I can't wait until I can do that," Rosie moaned quietly from beside Albus.

"What, wash dishes?" Albus asked. "You can do my share any time you like."

Rosie rolled her eyes. "Not funny."

"Alright," Albus's mother said, stowing her wand back into her robe pocket and turning to them. "Albus, Rosie, how're you coming on the decorations?"

"Fine," Rosie said, moving to the table so she could hold up the paper chain. "See, we're almost finished."

"They won't let Hugo and me help," Lily said quickly.

"I was going to let you cut the paper," Albus said indignantly. "But Rosie's right. We are almost finished."

"But I want to help!" Lily's bottom lip was starting to tremble again.

"Enough," Albus's mother said firmly. "Albus, I need you to go up and clean your room. It's filthy."

"What? No, I don't want—"

His mother held up a finger, cutting him off. "Rosie, do mind helping him? Then Lily, Hugo, and I will finish up the decorations and clear the table for supper. Ok?"

Lily grinned eagerly, but Rosie looked a little putout as she and Albus made for the kitchen door. Albus's mother must have noticed this, because as they passed her, she leaned down and whispered, "Don't worry, Rosie. I won't let them spoil your hard work."

"Thanks, Aunt Ginny."

Rosie pushed open the door and held it for Albus, but he had suddenly remembered something and went racing back to the table where Lily and Hugo were already busy picking out colors.

"My letter," he said, holding out his hand.

"What?" Lily said vaguely, scrutinizing the rainbow of colored paper in front of her. Having got what she wanted, she had clearly forgotten all about the letter.

"My let-ter," Albus repeated, emphasizing each syllable.

"Oh yeah, here." Reaching into her jeans pocket, Lily withdrew a crumpled piece of paper and thrust it at Albus. He rejoined Rosie at the door and together they left the kitchen.

"I guess Aunt Ginny could fix the chain even if Hugo completely destroys it," Rosie said as they climbed the stairs to Albus's bedroom on the second floor. Raising her arm as though she were holding a wand, she gave a sweeping wave. "'Reparo!' Just like that. I've seen mum do it a thousand times."

"Uh-huh," said Albus, uncrumpling his letter as best he could. He inspected the name on the front and stopped as he recognized the slanted, spiky handwriting. He grinned.

"What?" asked Rosie, pausing a few stairs ahead of him.

"It's from Teddy," Albus said excitedly. "No wonder Lily had it. Hob always delivers letters to her, even those addressed to dad, stupid owl."

Teddy Lupin was Albus's god-brother. His parents had died years ago—so long ago, Teddy couldn't even remember them—and the Potters had unofficially adopted him, Albus's and Teddy's parents having been good friends. Teddy had grown up living half with his grandmother and half with the Potters, becoming like an older brother to first James and then Albus. Being eight years older than Albus, he had already graduated from school and could do all sorts of complex magic, making him the coolest person Albus knew. And the fact he always took the time to write to Albus made him feel special, even though he knew Teddy wrote to James just as much. Unfortunately, ever since Teddy had gotten the plump, tawny owl Hob for his fifteenth birthday, all of Teddy's letters were being delivered straight to Lily.

"It's because she feeds him treats," Rosie said over her shoulder. "Don't read it here," she added because he had made to tear the letter open. "I want to read it too."

She grabbed his sleeve and they took off up the stairs, taking them two at a time. They flung themselves down the hallway and into Albus's bedroom. His mother had not been lying when she said it needed cleaning. Scattered about the room were mounds of shirts and pants, some wrinkled, some clean but not yet put away, and some covered in unidentifiable brown goo. Socks littered the floor, as did discarded books, candy wrappers, transformable toys, and Chocolate Frog Cards (they kept spontaneously falling from the ceiling where James had stuck them). The desk at one end of the room was cluttered with scrawled-on stacks of parchment, bent and chewed-on quills, empty bottles of ink, and a lamp missing its lampshade. And above the desk, posters of famous Quidditch players struck dashing poses, at odds with the cutout newspaper photographs of intelligent-looking wizards dressed in crisp white robes and the framed pictures of his family at various locales—the beach, the Eiffel Tower, the inside of a train on the London underground, and Granddad Weasley's house at Christmas.

Albus veered round the mess and collapsed heavily on his unmade bed, making the springs creak loudly. Rosie seated herself beside him and leaned in closer so she could read over his shoulder. Puffing slightly, he tore open the letter and, smoothing it out, began to read:

Dear Al,

I'll be by tomorrow to wish you happy birthday and bring your present, but I thought I'd better send a letter ahead to warn you. James contacted me the other day wanting my advice on some magic. He wouldn't tell me what it's for, but I think it has something to do with the birthday present he's sending you.

Tell Rosie, Lily, and Hugo hello. See you tomorrow,

Teddy

"James is sending me a present?" Albus said apprehensively when he'd finished the letter. "This can't be good."

"He can't send anything really dangerous through the mail, can he?" Rosie asked. She sounded even more worried than Albus.

"If anyone can manage it, James can," replied Albus. "He sent me a letter full of itching powder his first term at school, remember. Gave me hives all up my arms and I couldn't hold anything for a week, my fingers swelled so big. Mum sent him a Howler for that one." Albus grinned as he imagined what James's face must have looked like when he'd gotten the Howler, a violently red letter that shouted angry messages and burst into flames if the person it was addressed to didn't open it quickly enough. "He hasn't sent me anything since."

Albus didn't add that James had probably been saving up his ideas, waiting for an occasion like this one to set his plans into motion.

"I don't know how you can stand him!" Rosie said suddenly. "I'd hate it if he was my brother."

Albus didn't say anything. It was true, James could be downright horrible at times, always teasing and lying and trying to get him into trouble, but it wasn't as if Albus took it lying down. He fought back, in his own way. His retaliation wasn't as flashy as James's jokes (he had never, for instance, convinced the ghoul in Granddad Weasley's attic to chuck underwear out the window as they played two-a-side Quidditch in exchange for a pack of blowing gum), but it was effective. James would not soon forget the irate shopkeeper who had chased him from a candy shop after trying to pay with fake galleons Albus had "accidentally" left lying about his bedroom, nor the teasing he had received after a pair of elves had turned his hair robin-egg blue as a Christmas present.

The best part about his revenge was, if it all went according to plan, he rarely got into trouble for it. While James spent the better part of his days grounded for one prank or another, Albus could count on one hand the numbers of times he had been punished for his practical jokes. After all, how was he supposed to know James would steal the fake money from his room or that the elves would take him seriously when he said James always wished he had blue hair?

His parents, of course, weren't stupid. They knew he had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of all of James's shoes and the strange odor that had been discovered coming from inside James's closet. His father especially seemed to suspect Albus was more than an innocent bystander—the way he looked at Albus when they'd found James's shoes strung up on the next-door neighbor's weathervane, Albus could tell his dad _knew_ who was responsible—though he never said as much. Perhaps, like Albus, he thought a little payback was good for James.

"I can't believe James ended up in Gryffindor. He's such a bully," Rosie said. Albus looked over at her and saw she had gotten up from the bed and crossed the room to where a pile of crumpled clothing lay on the floor. "That's another reason not to go to Gryffindor. James would pick on us all the time. We should get as far away from him as we can." She nudged the pile with a toe and crinkled her nose. "Your room really is dirty, isn't it?"

"Just shove it with the others," Albus said, pointing at one of the larger piles in the corner of his room. "Here, take this, too." He extracted a wrinkled shirt from under his rumpled covers and tossed it to her.

"I'm not doing this alone! It's your room! Why don't you start on that side and I'll start here and we'll meet in the middle."

Albus sighed and reluctantly got to his feet. Shoving Teddy's letter into his trouser pocket, he began sorting through the mountains of clothing by his desk, haphazardly depositing the clean ones into his closet and tossing the dirty ones onto Rosie's growing pile.

They cleaned for an hour, trying to ignore the delicious smells that began drifting up from the kitchen. Rosie kept up a constant stream of chatter about how easy this would all be with magic.

"There are all sorts of spells for household chores," she said, collecting some books that had been hiding under his bed. "There's spells for removing dirt and washing clothes and sweeping floors. There's even a spell for folding socks."

"I _know_," said Albus, who was now busy tidying his desk. "But that kind of magic is boring. I want to learn cool stuff, like turning mice into teakettles or something. Remember when Teddy brought over that frog he'd made grow extra legs?"

"What good is that?" Rosie asked, flipping through one of the books she was holding. She couldn't seem to resist doing so whenever one passed through her hands. "At least household spells are useful. Here, Al, this was stuck in your book."

Albus took the newspaper clipping she'd extracted from the page it had been marking. A tan wizard dressed in a white robe smiled up at him from the picture accompanying a short article, his rectangular glasses perched smartly on the bridge of his nose and a turban hiding most of his curly brown hair. Behind him, Albus could just make out the triangular shape of a pyramid. Words beneath the photograph read: **Renowned Cursebreaker Makes Startling Egyptian Find**.

Albus grinned as the wizard winked at him. Reaching across his desk, he pinned the clipping next to the other white-robed wizard photographs on his wall.

"Albus! Rosie! Dinner!" Called his mother's voice from somewhere below them.

"Oh, good," said Rosie. She dropped the last few books onto a wobbling stack. "I'm starving."

Halfway down the staircase, Albus heard the back door open and close and new, deeper voices coming from the kitchen. Thundering the rest of the way down the stairs closely followed by Rosie, he pushed his way in the kitchen and was greeted by the two men who had just arrived.

"Look, dad, look," Lily was saying to the first man, who was busy shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the peg by the door. She held up the paper chain she had been working on so he could inspect it. "Hugo and I made it, though Al and Rosie helped a little."

"Very nice," the man said. He removed the hat he had been wearing and hung it beside his coat, revealing a mess of untidy black hair that stuck up in the back at the exact same place as Albus's own. He smiled as Lily gave his leg a brief hug. His green eyes, identical to the pair residing in Albus's face, crinkled in the corners. "Hi, Al, Rosie," he added, spotting the two of them hovering by the doorway.

"Hi, dad," said Albus. "Hi, Uncle Ron."

The second man, who was very tall and red-headed, lingered by the doorway with his coat still on. He held a bag slung over one shoulder.

"Don't get excited," he said, noticing Al eyeing the bag hopefully. "Your birthday present's coming tomorrow. This is for you, Rosie."

"What is it?" Rosie asked, taking the bag from her father. Hugo, who had been busy shredding the colored paper at the kitchen table, looked up.

"The things your mother realized she forgot to pack you and Hugo for tonight. Extra socks, reading material, first aid kit. You know, the usual."

Rosie unzipped the bag and stared inside in apparent horror. "What do we need all this stuff for? We're sleeping over at Al's house, not camping in Siberia."

"Yeah, we promise to feed them, honestly," Albus's dad said, chuckling. "We'll even let them sleep in the house."

"Hey, I'm just the delivery owl," Uncle Ron said, holding up his arms in mock surrender. "I learned long ago it's no use to argue with your mother. And besides, there might be something in there you'll really like."

Rosie rolled her eyes and mumbled, "I doubt it."

Then she froze. Plunging a hand into the bag she extracted a photograph like the ones Albus had pinned above his desk, except that to one side was an indecipherable scrawl.

"Is this what I think it is?" Rosie asked in a hushed voice.

"What is it? Lemme see," Hugo demanded. He hopped down from his chair and ran to his sister, straining to see what she held in her now trembling hands.

"If you think it's an autographed photo of the famous international Quidditch player Roderyk Vitali, then, yeah, Rosie, it's what you think it is," said Uncle Ron. "Happy belated birthday."

Rosie rushed to her father and hugged him. "Wow, thanks dad."

"How did you get a signed photo of Roderyk Vitali?" Albus's mother wanted to know. "I thought you Aurors were too busy catching dark wizards to hobnob with international Quidditch players."

"I have my ways," Uncle Ron said mysteriously. "But anyway, I've got to get going. I just came to drop off Rosie's things. Hermione's expecting me home for supper."

"Hermione's cooking supper? That could get interesting," said Albus's dad.

Uncle Ron grimaced. "She says she's been practicing. But," he dropped his voice, "if it doesn't turn out well, do you think you could send along some of your leftovers? Hermione notices whenever I try to sneak food from the pantry."

"We'll see what we can do," said Albus's mother.

Uncle Ron bid Albus, Lily, and their parents farewell, hugged Rosie again (he attempted to hug Hugo, but the boy squirmed out of his grasp), and stepped out into the quickly approaching night. Albus's mother shut the door behind him.

"Can I see the signed photo?" Albus said at once, turning to Rosie.

"But _I _wanted to see it!" Hugo whined.

"Me too! Me too!" said Lily.

"After supper, we'll all look at it," said Albus's mother. "Run your stuff up to Al's room, Rosie. Here, Al, Lily, help set table. And Harry…"

"Hmm?" asked Albus's dad, stepping over to his wife and winding a hand around her waist. She smiled up into his face, making Albus duck his head in embarrassment as he hurried to lie out the silverware.

"Welcome home."


	4. Chapter One: The Birthday Letters, pt3

Chapter One

The Birthday Letters, Part 3

"So how did Ron get that autograph?" Albus's mother asked once they had all settled around the table, piling their plates (or, in Hugo's case, everything but his plate) high with steaming mounds of stew.

Albus's father smiled. "You remember Viktor Krum?"

"He's a member of the International Association of Quidditch," spouted Rosie around a spoonful of vegetables. "He's the Bulgarian representative."

Albus gaped at her. "How do you know that?"

"I heard mum and dad talking about him the other day," Rosie said, a bit sheepish. "Bulgaria's playing a match in England next week so he was visiting the Ministry of Magic. I guess mum saw him there."

"Bet that made Ron's day," snorted Albus's mother.

"Yeah, well, he was at the Ministry today, too. Him _and_ Roderyk Vitali. I guess Vitali's been getting threatening letters ever since the Bulgarian team flew into England," Albus's dad said.

"Why would someone do that?" asked Albus. "He's just a Quidditch player."

"He isn't just a Quidditch player," Rosie said, looking scandalized. "He's the best Keeper in the entire West European Conference! Did you know he has the highest block average since Bonperrie played for France in the 1870s. Even dad says he's incredible and he hates Bulgaria."

"We're lucky the rest of the Bulgarian team is terrible," added Albus's mother, "otherwise they'd be top in the League. You can't win by only defending. No, Hugo, stop. Just let me do it."

"Yeah, but it helps," Rosie said, as her aunt twirled her wand, making the milk Hugo had knocked over with his elbow and subsequently tried to mop up with the table cloth, vanish.

"Plenty of other people must be thinking the same thing, because Vitali's gotten over a hundred owls telling him he'll be biting it before Saturday's match," Albus's dad said.

Albus's mother frowned. "I don't see how this is a Ministry problem, though. Doesn't Bulgaria have its own wizards protecting the team?"

"They do," confirmed Albus's dad, spearing a carrot on his fork, "but something's got Vitali spooked. One of the letters struck too close to home, I guess, and he leaned on Krum to get our Aurors involved."

"Aurors are going to protect Vitali?" Albus asked, amazed. Both Rosie's and Albus's fathers were Aurors, magically powerful witches and wizards trained to hunt down the darkest of Dark Wizards. Albus had seen quite a few of the Aurors his father worked with over the years, and he couldn't help but notice that an alarming number of them were missing a body part or two. He had once made the mistake of asking an Auror by the name of Brickleforth Jenkins exactly how he had lost his middle finger, to which the Auror had replied with a long and gruesome tale about a Dark Wizard who liked to collect his victims' fingernails.

"No," Albus's father said firmly. "We're not." He sighed. "I told Krum I wouldn't send an Auror to follow Vitali around when someone from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad could do just as good a job. The letters were mean, but nothing out of the ordinary. Krum understood, of course, but Vitali wasn't happy about it."

"Didn't stop Ron from asking for his autograph, though." Albus's mother grinned.

"He should've asked for two," lamented Albus. "It is my birthday tomorrow."

Rosie smiled slyly. "I thought he was just a Quidditch player."

Albus stuck out his tongue, coated with masticated food, at her, earning him a sharp glare from his mother and a squealed "Eww!" from Lily.

They spent the remainder of the night passing around the photograph (Rosie wrung her hands anxiously as it reached Hugo who was bouncing excitedly on his heels) and discussing old Quidditch matches. Viktor Krum, Albus learned, had been the Bulgarian Seeker for years before finally retiring after sustaining a particularly nasty Bludger injury. Albus's parents reminisced for nearly a half hour about the time they had seen Krum play at the Quidditch World Cup ("His Wronski feint was always incredible, but the way he led the Irish Seeker on!"), while Rosie jabbered on about rules and regulations to Lily and Hugo, neither of whom were really listening.

"There's seven players on a team. Three Chasers, who score goals by putting the Quaffle—that's the red ball—through the rings at the end of the pitch. Two Beaters. They hit Bludgers—those small black balls—at the other team, trying to knock them of their broomsticks. One Keeper, who guards the rings, and one Seeker."

"Dad was a Seeker," piped up Lily, looking away from the stuffed dragon with which she and Hugo had been playing Healer. It quivered as Hugo advanced on it bearing a fake wand and a grim expression.

"I know that," said Rosie. "My dad was the Keeper. He was the best."

"He's got a Snitch in the study. He showed it to me," Lily continued. "It's really pretty and flies all over the room."

"He showed it to me, too," said Albus. "Said he caught it in his first-ever Quidditch match. Got Gryffindor one hundred fifty extra points and won the game." He paused, and then added, "James pinched it once so he could practice catching it with his new broom. Dad had to fly way up passed the clouds to get it back. Told James if he wanted to be a Seeker, he should start by catching potatoes, not irreplaceable heirlooms. Then he grounded him for a week."

"James wants to be a Seeker?" said Rosie, surprised. "But he's always the Beater when we play at Grandad Weasley's house."

"That's just 'cause he likes hitting things at us. Ever since he got his own broom he's been practicing being Seeker. Wants to be on the Gryffindor team, like dad was."

"First years can't be on House teams, though. Mum said so," said Rosie resolutely.

"Next year he can be," said Albus, "which means I'll never be Seeker. James would never let me try. Probably'd stuff my pillow full of gnome dung for even thinking about it."

"You'll never be Seeker on the _Gryffindor_ team," corrected Rosie. "But maybe you wouldn't even be in Gryffindor."

Albus groaned. They were back to that.

"I'm going to be in Gryffindor," he said more confidently than he felt.

Rosie leveled a look at him that said all too clearly he was being unreasonably pigheaded and would come to realize, in the end, that she was entirely right.

"I'm going to be in Gryffindor," he repeated softly. The lump of worry that had been gnawing at him since Rosie's birthday party tightened uncomfortably in his stomach. He would be in Gryffindor. He had to be.

* * *

The night before his eleventh birthday was the longest Albus had ever experienced. He spent the night lying awake, listening to Rosie breathing peacefully on the floor beside his bed and silently worrying about things over which he had no control. He could not stop imagining the mischievous grin his brother wore when Albus was about to fall for one of his practical jokes. What did James have planned for tomorrow? Another exploding cake? Or maybe a biting book, like the one James claimed to have seen in Aunt Hermione's study?

And still unbidden into his mind wandered the ever alarming question of his bravery. Was it cowardly to dread what James had planned for him? Would it be even more cowardly to tell his parents what James might do, like Rosie had urged him? He couldn't help thinking it was….

* * *

Albus was jerked awake by a pillow smashing into his head.

"Hrumph!" he grunted, swinging an arm out to fend off his attacker.

"Get up! Get up!" sang Lily happily in his ear. She sent the pillow flying at his head again, chirruping, "It's your birthday! Get up! Mum says get up!"

Albus grabbed at the pillow and wrested it from Lily's grip. She squealed as he sent it sailing back at her, and she raced from his room, still singing, "You gotta get up! Mum says get up!"

Albus groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't remember falling asleep last night. Turning over, he noticed that Rosie had already woken. Her covers were neatly folded and stacked beside his bed (her pillow now lay across the room, having been snatched from the pile and devilishly employed by Lily).

Pushing away the last vestiges of a troublesome sleep, he got up and dressed, his excitement mounting. He was eleven years old! Today was his birthday. There would be presents and cake and games. There would also be owls. Tons of owls from people he both did and didn't know. It was always this way at his birthday—or James's or Lily's birthday, for that matter. Throughout the day, the owls would come flooding in from all across the country, wishing him happy birthday and sometimes containing a little toy or trinket. James's eleventh birthday had been by far the worst. The letters were arriving far more quickly than they could be untied from the owls legs, even with the combined efforts of their mother, father, Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, and Granddad Weasley. The owls swarmed the house, jostling for attention, and making a mess of the kitchen. Eventually their dad sent a message to the Ministry to get the owls redirected to an empty receiving room in London. When at last all the owls had been sent on their way, the letter count had reached well beyond ten thousand.

"Why does everyone want to send James letters?" a perplexed Albus had asked his father. "I mean, he's _James_."

His dad had chuckled. "That's why they're sending them. Because he's James."

"That makes no sense. They don't even know him."

"No, they don't. But they know me. They just like to know my children are doing okay."

"But how do _you_ know so many people?" Albus demanded.

"From work. I've met a lot of people over the years."

Which Albus supposed was true. Whenever they went to Diagon Alley to visit the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes joke shop or stopped by the Leaky Cauldron for dinner with Uncle Neville (who wasn't actually their uncle, just his parents' friend from way back at Hogwarts), people were constantly greeting his father, shaking his hand, and asking how he was doing.

Still, James had gloated for a whole month after his birthday about the number of chocolate frog cards he had gotten. He had even refused to give Albus one of his Merlin cards, even though he had gotten three of them in his birthday letters and knew Albus had been trying to collect one for years.

Racing down the stairs, Albus burst into the kitchen. It was already beginning to fill with people. Rosie, Hugo, and Lily sat at the table munching on bacon and eggs while around them bustled Grandma Weasley, putting pots and pans on the stove while Albus's mother, looking half amused, half exasperated, watched from her position by the counter. Albus didn't know whether he was disappointed or relieved to see that a menagerie of owls had not taken up residence.

"Albie, dear!" exclaimed Grandma Weasley as Albus moved to sit at the table. "How's the birthday boy? Eleven years old. How wonderful!" Abandoning her pots, she rushed forward and gave Albus a one-armed hug. "Sit down, sit down. I'll fix your breakfast. Eggs and toast? I made some nice brown bread, just for the occasion."

"Sure, Gran, thanks."

He took a seat by Rosie and almost immediately Grandma Weasley slid a plate filled to the rim with eggs and beans-on-toast in front of him. He tucked in.

"Guess what I saw?" Rosie whispered, nudging him with an elbow once Grandma Weasley had retreated to the stove.

"What?"

"Your dad just went by carrying a load of presents and one was definitely long and skinny," Rosie said, waggling an eyebrow.

"My broomstick!" Albus whispered back triumphantly. With all his worrying about Houses and James, he'd nearly forgotten how much he'd been longing for a broom. "It's gotta be. But where've the presents gone?" He added, straining his neck around.

"Parlor," replied Rosie. "There wasn't enough room in the kitchen, obviously, so mum and dad's helping Uncle Harry set up in there. You've got a bazillion presents," she added, a bit enviously.

Albus woofed down the rest of his breakfast and went to see.

Stacked to overflowing on a low table by the sofa were presents of every size and color. Big and small, fat and skinny, some with ribbon, others in shiny paper, others still a little worse for wear, having just arrived in the early morning coolness. Albus gave a little whoop as he spotted an elongated package in red wrapping leaning against the sofa arm.

"And those are just the presents," said Uncle Ron, motioning to six large packing boxes he, Aunt Hermione, and Albus's dad had just finished opening. "Your birthday cards are all here."

"Why are they in there? They didn't all come together, did they?" asked Albus, coming over to peer at the neatly bundled cards.

"They're being sent over by the Ministry in groups of one thousand, after they've been inspected and sorted, of course," answered Aunt Hermione with a smile of satisfaction. "Oh, here comes another delivery!"

She sped over to the fireplace where a flame of bright green had just flared to life, casting a pale glow over the entire room. Aunt Hermione waited expectantly by the hearth, arms outstretched, bushy hair (strikingly similar to her daughter's in both quantity and volume) pinned behind either ear.

A box suddenly appeared in the flames. It spun wildly in place, so fast that the edges blurred together. As it began to slow, Albus could make out words stamped across the front: "Inspected by Humphry Buggs, Owl Post Registry Office, Ministry of Magic."

"Give me a hand with this, would you," said Aunt Hermione, grasping one end of the box and tugging it out of the fireplace.

"Stand back, Al," said Albus's dad, moving forward to grab the other side while Uncle Ron made a space in the pile. Together, his dad and Aunt Hermione half-carried, half-dragged the sealed box and deposited it next to the others.

"There can't be much more," Uncle Ron said, taking out his wand and directing it at the box. It opened with a small pop. "This makes, what, seven thousand."

"Wow!" exclaimed Lily, running in from the kitchen. "Can I see one? Please. _Please._ Just one."

"No way. They're my letters," said Albus at once.

"But you can help open them tonight after the party," said his dad, giving Albus a don't-pick-on-your-sister look. "Trust me, Al, you'll need all the help you can get opening this lot."

Guests started arriving not long after Grandma Weasley had cleared away breakfast. Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur stomped into the kitchen toting four separate presents, one from them and from each of their children who were currently at school (Albus glared suspiciously at the one from Louis, who got along entirely too well with James). They were quickly followed by Albus's other uncles: Charlie; Percy accompanied by his wife Audrey; and George and Aunt Angelina, who were juggling several boxes and a pair of squirming toddlers. Luna Scamander arrived next, smiling dreamily as she wished Albus a happy birthday.

"Rolf wanted to come, but he caught a nasty case of spattergroit when we were fishing for plimpies in Antarctica. Luckily, I still have some Bethesdian Water left. Best protection against diseases like spattergroit," she said, pulling out a crystal bottle and squirting a fine mist over Albus's head. He sneezed. "Good for your sinuses, too."

Albus glanced over at Rosie who stifled a giggle.

"I can't wait to see what she got you," Rosie snickered when he joined her a minute later carrying Luna's oblong present.

"Shut up. It can't be worse than what you got," Albus retorted, setting the present gingerly beside the others. "A wreath of thistles and chicken feathers. What are you supposed to do with that?"

"Hang it over your bedpost to keep the Night Warglers away," Rosie said, mimicking Luna's singsong voice. "Mum wouldn't let me throw it away, either, though she said there's no such thing as Night Warglers."

Teddy Lupin was the last to arrive. He shrugged off his long coat and scarf just in time to be shooed by Grandma Weasley from the kitchen and into the parlor, which was near to bursting with chatter and laughter. Albus spotted Teddy's lanky form—he was at least half a head taller than almost everyone in the room and Albus secretly wished he'd be that tall when he grew up—shouldering his way past the scrum at the door.

"Teddy!" he shouted, waving a hand at his god-brother, who grinned and elbowed his way over.

"Happy birthday, Al," he said, sweeping a hand through his wavy brown hair. He'd been growing it out recently, much to Grandma Weasley's chagrin, and it made him look roguish, daring. Albus supposed this had something to do with him training to be a Cursebreaker, since Bill, who'd been a Cursebreaker since before Albus was born, had the same wildness in his appearance. "Did you get my letter?"

"Yeah, thanks. But I haven't seen anything from James yet. I've been keeping an eye out, though."

"Hmm," said Teddy, casting the mound of presents a curious look, "unless it snuck in disguised as something else." He laughed at Albus's troubled expression. "Don't worry so much. James is tricky, but so are you. And you're forewarned now."

"I'd still rather you opened his present instead of me," Albus replied. "Or maybe I'll just throw it out. That way no one gets hurt."

"Well, just remember, if it does get hairy, I've got your back."

Albus wondered if he would ever be that confident, that…fearless. But then, Cursebreakers had to be fearless, almost more so than Aurors. They encountered all sorts of strange, frightening things in their line of work. He'd once overheard Bill telling Teddy about a three-headed mummy that sprung to life to guard the treasure buried next to a pharaoh's tomb. It had taken three Cursebreakers and several well-placed jinxes to disarm (quite literally) the sword-swinging corpse. Albus had had nightmares for a week after that particular tale. Teddy, on the other hand, had taken to retelling the adventure to anyone who would listen.

"Can you just imagine?" he said, over and over again. "Taking down a crazed mummy. Can you just imagine?"

Teddy had, of course, been a Gryffindor at Hogwarts. He was what Albus imagined the perfect Gryffindor to be: strong, fearless, and really good at Quidditch.

Albus looked round as the lights in the parlor suddenly dimmed and a hush fell over the party. Teddy shifted away from him and in the doorway Albus's mother appeared, wand outstretched, a cake lit with eleven flickering candles hovering before her.

"Happy birthday to you," Teddy began singing, off-tone, and everyone joined in, a little raucously (Uncle George's voice in particular wailed above the others). "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, Albus. Happy birthday to you."

The cake floated over to Albus, who smiled down at the glimmering lights.

"Make a wish!" someone shouted.

A wish. What did he wish for more than anything?

He closed his eyes. That was easy. He wished he were brave.

Like Teddy.

Like his father.

Like James.

Albus took a breath and blew out the candles.


End file.
